OPERA AUTOROUTA

Performance singing and walking along a Belgian Highway. A non-narrative history, a walk in a forgotten place : a Belgian highway. A musical interpretation of reality. A way of discovering and showing an environment. A way of appreciating voice and aria’s opera.

Highway is a potential site of poetic expression or vain messaging for drivers in a hurry. (J. Porsperger)

Performer instructions :

DAY 1 discretion, no previous script, be the size of an insect, see and record, DAY 2 need to respond, to awaken, to convince drivers,

A personal opera created in regard with the environment. Using his resources of agronomist engineer specializing in land management, Porsperger works on a 360 degree space, city, region. The creative process is to construct images (visual and audio) in different environments : no ideas predefined scenarios or frameworks, Porsperger analyzes and interprets what he observes. Step by step, he built a sort of unprecedented tour of the place, using humor, strange, endangerment, beauty, sensitivity …

Porsperger particularly interested in the forgotten places, that people normally do not consider. The hidden places, forgotten, empty, he reveals their history, their poetry.

He uses his counter-tenor voice soft and noisy, and the environment to create a contemporary form of opera. It offers interpretations of Mozart, Bach, Handel and Purcell, among others. In the sound design, he also uses the multiplicity of sounds specific locations.

Travel instructions

New solitude in spaces created by modern societyFragility, exposure, solitude, indifference, carsGo sing where never the music has resonatedAnother view of the highway, far from the familiar comfort of the carForgotten landscapes …Destroyed landscapes …Change of perspectiveHidden faces of the highwayWho would stop for a closer look

Hidden Reality

The landscape is no longer important and, subterfuge, the speed of the car hides the reality.“What we are confortable on the highway in our car comfortably launched on 140 kilometer per hour.And the reality?Already past behind you Highway PoetryConcrete, Lines, Whirlpool truckFragile corners, plants in the cracks, dead animalsDeserted low tunnels, caves, anonymous sunsets, lost the lightSudden silences, slaps of wind, birds, screams from a football field1, 2, 3 Whirlpool trucks, heavy and round sounds, slow and windy, monotonousHorns, sirens, policeExclusive sunsetI saw what the bridge sees every day but that he does not shareIt is alone this bridge, no one ever goes.And birds fly above the very high in the red sky that nobody hears.